I remember making fun of my dad back in middle school because he didn’t know the latest teenage slang terms or the newest trends. He would always reply with “Jordyn, you better be nice because you’re gonna be taking care of me one day when I’m old and gray, and I won’t let you have it easy.” 

Middle school me, and even me today, would never have guessed that day would come so soon. Then, after my junior year of high school, I would watch my dad get really sick. I never would have imagined that going into my senior year, I wouldn’t have a dad to watch me experience all the “lasts” of high school. 

Let me give you a quick, brief recap of the last few months of my life, so the storyline makes more sense. 

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On April 16, 2025, my family received the news that no one ever wants to hear. My dad, the strongest guy I know, was diagnosed with liver cancer. Cholangiocarcinoma, to be exact. Two weeks later, we got the news. The cancer is stronger than I thought; it spread to his lungs. 

My dad and stepmom, Sarah, spent 10 days at the cancer hospital, MD Anderson, in Houston, trying to get my dad’s bilirubin levels to go down. To start any sort of treatment or chemotherapy, his bilirubin level had to be below one. When entering the hospital, my dad’s bilirubin level was at 14, and it just kept going up. 

A quick pause on the recap, real quick, for one of the moments I will never forget. My dad and Sarah thought they would be there for maybe three days. They were there for 10. My dad was getting super depressed because he hadn’t seen his children in 10 days, been outside or eaten any real food. On May 18, my sister, Nicole, picked me up from my journalism editor retreat, and we coordinated with Sarah to surprise my dad down in Houston. We walked into the room and watched my dad’s eyes light up as tears streamed down his face. In the midst of all the chaos of tests, procedures and bad news, he was so overjoyed to see his children. That’s one of the reasons I loved my dad so much. His children meant the most to him. 

After 10 days at MD Anderson, the doctors finally sent him home just so he could be comfortable back in Fort Worth. Sarah and my dad then had an appointment at UT Southwestern in Dallas to see if there was anything else they could do. 

This appointment is when all of our perspectives started to change. If you know me, I’m not the best at being super optimistic; however, throughout the whole process of cancer with my dad, I tried really hard to never let my mind spiral down to the darkest thoughts that one day I would lose my dad. I mean, no child or adult ever wants to think about their parent passing away. But at the appointment at UT Southwestern, the doctors told my dad and Sarah that there was nothing they could do and there was no treatment my dad could receive for how aggressive the cancer had become. They recommend that he go home and try to spend time with his family and get comfortable before things start to get worse. 

It was the last week in May when my whole world changed. 

At the beginning of that week, my dad started to become extremely weak and incoherent. We had to help him drink water, sit up, lie down and do all the basic functions you could think of. All the functions I’d never thought, at 55 years old, I would be helping my dad with. 

On May 27, his comprehension and speech continued to decline. This day will forever be cherished in my heart. This day was the last day I heard my dad tell me he loved me. Since birth, hearing your parents tell you they love you is something special. It may be said a lot or rarely, but it reminds you how much they care for you, how much they want to protect you and how treasured you are to them. And I was so happy to be protected and treasured by my dad. 

On May 29, Hospice recommended we take my dad to the emergency room to get his stomach drained to give him some relief and comfort. Sarah, her sister and her sister’s husband took my dad to the ER, and the rest of our family met them up there. 

At 6:30 p.m., my aunt walked me, Nicole, my brother-in-law, Taylor, and my brother, Aiden, into the hospital room to meet Sarah and my dad. I saw Sarah weeping. I knew it was bad. 

They told her that they were unable to drain my dad’s stomach because the cancer had continued to spread. They told her his kidneys were also shutting down. They told her that at most, we would have 48 hours left with my dad. 

For the next 18 hours and 19 minutes, my entire family filled that hospital room on the fourth floor at Texas Health Harris Methodist Hospital with laughs of funny memories, tears and weeping because we knew what was coming and for some, including myself, lots of anger because I wasn’t ready for him to go.

My dad took his last breath at 12:49 p.m. on May 30, 2025. Just after 44 days fighting cancer.

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There’s so much more of the storyline I had to leave out, but my dad was way more than 44 days of cancer, so here were some of my favorite parts of my dad. 

His humor. My dad always knew how to make me laugh. He knew exactly how to make any of my bad days great by simply grinning at me until I busted out laughing or telling one of his stupid, endless dad jokes. He was well known for the classic, “Does your face hurt … because it’s killing me” line. And, yes, it very much got old, but it still made me laugh because it was from my dad. 

His generosity. My dad owned multiple tree and landscaping companies. He was best known for taking on employees who needed a fresh start. Those who couldn’t afford anything. He taught them how to make a living, raise a family and what it meant to budget and save. One of my favorite stories is toward the beginning of his career, he encountered a widowed woman who needed her trees cut down but barely had any money. My dad just asked her to give him whatever she could, and he would do the job. She gave him an old, beat-down boat that was sitting in her garage for decades. It didn’t ever even run, but my dad took it, did all of her tree work and still continued to check on her after because that’s the kind of guy he was. 

Most importantly, my favorite thing about my dad was his love for others. In the message I wrote for his funeral, one thing I mentioned was how my dad did everything he did out of his love for his wife, his kids and his grandkids. His favorite thing to do was surprise us, spend time with us and talk to us. He was the best loving dad I could ask for.

The thing I miss most about my dad was his spontaneity. I miss his random phone calls during the day just because he wanted to talk to me. I miss him texting me randomly that he loved me just because. I miss him asking me to send him pictures on trips. I miss him sending me GIFs every day and hearing his monkey song on my birthday. I miss his humor, his generosity, his love, his hugs and so much more. 

There are so many things I miss about my dad, but I’m so grateful that for 16 years I got to call Michial Lee Green my dad and learn so many amazing things from him. I know that as time goes, as senior year comes and as I go into college, I will continue to miss him more each and every day. However, I hope to continue to tell others about what a great guy, teacher and father my dad was to so many. It’s really hard still to imagine my world without him, but I’m so thankful I knew a world with him and hope I can make him proud every day because I sure was proud of him.